A little purple man writes one of the best songs I’ve ever heard. His record, then cassette, then CD are some of the first non-Smurf and -Muppet related music purchases I ever make. He’s Prince. He can do no wrong. And he writes tunes and plays guitar like no one else.
Maybe it’s because my faux boyfriend, John Cusack, has been on my mind a LOT lately.
Maybe it’s because it was just never right from the start.
Who knows, Kiefer. But, I’m afraid… I have to break up with you. I know, I know. I’m hot. You’re hot. It should work. But…
You know that whispering thing you do into the phone all the time while calling CTU? It was cute before, but now… it Grates. My. Last. Nerve. And the killing and torture? You used to do it only when necessary, a reluctant soldier, a struggling hero. Now, you’re just showing off. Do we have a Napoleon complex now? I always liked your short legs and your not wearing high heels like Prince and that couch-jumper guy. You made up for your teeny-ness with bravado and compassion for those you love.
But now… you’re just a tiny man running (scurrying?) around like a chicken with his head cut off, never eating, never sleeping, never using the bathroom, trying to single-handedly save the world, again and again.
Ohhhhhhh. Martyr complex. I know a few too many of those already, sweets. They’re hard to be around. And honey, there isn’t a cross big enough for you at this point.
And the pining. Ugh. I know I have a thing for Johnny C., but that’s fantasy. You and this Audrey chick, and that blue-eyed woman who has apparently disappeared off the face of the earth (and I know that’s your baby, her 12-year-old son!). With you it’s always work, work, work, or Audrey, Audrey, Mr. President. You sure do call that mister mister a lot. … Just very patriotic, I guess.
I miss the man bag.
I miss the you who cried at the end of the one horrible day because it was hard being you. Now, it seems easy. And that’s… creepy.
Besides, you’re totally phoning it in now. You have the same glazed-over look in your eye that I do…
I used to miss you the other 28 weeks of the year, but now I’m thinking, “Hey, I gots some “me” time coming!” *sigh* I guess it just wasn’t meant to last. But we had five good years together. Or is that five good days? Either way, you’re still a hottie, and still my favorite Young Gun and teen vampire Lost Boy. But we’re not running out of time, anymore.
Let the silent clock tick for us…